The words tasted wrong in Noah's mouth.
He said them anyway.
He stood on the fire escape outside his apartment, dawn bleeding pale gray into the sky. The city hadn't woken yet. That quiet hour—too late for yesterday, too early for today—had always been his favorite.
Truth surfaced there.
"She should be dead."
No anger.
No disbelief.
Just arithmetic.
The Report That Never Changed
Three years ago, the report had been final.
Location: industrial port, Sector D
Threat: secondary explosives
Outcome: total structural collapse
Casualties: unrecoverable
He had read it until the words lost meaning.
He had signed the acknowledgment.
He had buried the file.
Everyone else had buried her.
But reports assumed compliance.
Explosions assumed physics.
And she had always treated assumptions like optional suggestions.
Memory Is a Weapon
Noah closed his eyes.
The blast had been louder than anything he'd known.
The pressure wave had lifted him and thrown him like a doll.
When he came to, his ears were ringing, lungs screaming, vision blurred.
And she—
She hadn't been there.
Not because she ran.
Because she stayed.
"…Clear the perimeter," her voice had cut through the chaos.
"…Don't wait for me."
He hadn't listened.
He never did.
That was why he was alive.
Why "Dead" Never Fit
Bodies were evidence.
Fire erased evidence.
They had told him that.
But what they hadn't explained—
Was why there were no fragments matching her gear.
Why her last transmission cut mid-word, not mid-scream.
Why the blast pattern showed a shadow where she'd been standing.
Why—
"Damn it," Noah muttered.
He gripped the rusted railing harder than necessary.
The Lie Everyone Agreed On
KIA was convenient.
It closed files.
It soothed command.
It gave people permission to move on.
Noah had taken that permission.
Folded it.
Put it in a pocket he pretended not to touch.
Until now.
The World She Chose Instead
Aria Lane.
Eighteen-line resumes.
Magazine covers.
Soft lighting.
Scripts that pretended danger was dramatic instead of procedural.
A life that required visibility.
Which was insane.
Unless—
Unless invisibility had become more dangerous than being seen.
The Question He Can't Avoid
If she survived—
She chose this.
The city.
The cameras.
The noise.
The opposite of shadows.
Which meant one thing.
She wasn't hiding from strangers.
She was hiding from them.
Noah exhaled slowly.
"…You didn't disappear," he said to the morning.
"…You changed terrain."
That was something she'd taught him too.
If the field is compromised, relocate the battlefield.
A Line He Crosses Anyway
He pulled out the burner phone.
Scrolled.
Stopped on a name he hadn't used in years.
CALL SIGN: OWL
Intel.
Quiet.
Too curious for his own good.
Noah hesitated.
Then hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
"Talk," a voice answered.
"I need you to run a check," Noah said.
"Off-books."
A pause.
"…On who?"
Noah looked out over the waking city.
On a billboard in the distance, her face still smiled down.
"…On a ghost," he said.
"A woman who should be dead."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"…Send what you have."
Noah ended the call.
Elsewhere
Aria Lane stood in her kitchen, sunlight spilling across the counter.
She stirred oatmeal absently, eyes unfocused.
For a moment, the actress wasn't there.
Just a woman counting invisible threads tightening around her.
"…Someone said my name in the wrong place," she murmured.
She took a bite.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
"…All right," she said softly.
"…Let's see how close you want to get."
She rinsed the bowl.
Grabbed her keys.
And stepped into a day that didn't know—
That a file long marked closed had just been reopened.
And this time—
It wasn't going to stay quiet.